


Do You Have a Mirror in Those Pants?

by mokuyoubi



Category: Glee
Genre: Frottage, Grinding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck is a sexy stalker.  Kurt is sassy.  There is frottage.  Pretty much it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Have a Mirror in Those Pants?

**Author's Note:**

> AN: OMG, I hate this show, wtaf am I doing? I blame the stupid internets for making Puck/Kurt such a delicious pairing...

There’s a forgotten storage cupboard tucked back behind the stage, off a little used hallway that once led to a side entrance before the school started cracking down on security. In one corner there’s a pile of old instruments and a bunch of music stands scattered around, and musty scent probably coming from the truly ancient band uniforms draped all over the place. The place is altogether sort of difficult to navigate.

Kurt’s sitting on an overturned bucket, filing his nails, when the door swings inward, almost hitting him in the face. Puck ducks inside and gently closes the door after him. He gives Kurt a once over and rolls his eyes at the door pointedly. 

“Rachel still out there with the tweezers?” Kurt asks, voice bland. 

Puck sucks his pinkie and thumb and slicks them along his brows. “These babies are naturally perfect,” he says. Then he jerks his chin at Kurt and adds, “I would have thought that shit would be right up your alley.” 

Kurt has to repress a shudder at the thought of Rachel Berry coming anywhere near his face with any beauty implement. He’s frankly offended that Puck thinks he could let her. “I’m just fine doing it on my own,” he says. 

“You _are_ fine on your own,” Puck purrs. He’s been saying shit like that for _weeks_ now, and Kurt has manfully been ignoring it. It wouldn’t be the first time some popular asshole thought it’d be a good joke to flirt with him and get his hopes up. Luckily, Kurt isn’t as gullible as he was in the 7th grade. 

“You can give it up, okay?” Kurt says coolly. 

“Why would I want to do that?” Puck asks. He looks honestly curious, but his lip is curled just slightly in amusement. 

“I’m not falling for it,” Kurt says. “So you can give it up.” 

Puck leers at him. “I’ll give it up if you will.” 

“Oh my god,” Kurt says, and absolutely refuses to blush. He stands up, and in the tight quarters he’s pressed way too close to Puck for comfort. “I’m leaving.” 

Puck grabs his arm, all the humour gone from his face. “You can’t go out there. She’ll get you.” 

“I’ll take my chances with her,” Kurt says. He tugs on his arm and Puck tugs back, twists so Kurt is pressed against the door. 

“Yeah, but if she sees you, she might check for me.” 

Kurt lets his gaze trace Puck’s features, lingering on his eyebrows. “Worse things could happen,” he says. 

Puck smirks and then he _rolls his hips_ against Kurt’s. Kurt opens his mouth to gasp a protest, but the words freeze on his tongue when Puck ducks his head and kisses him. For a long moment, Kurt can only stand in shocked silence, unable to move away. 

The thing is, Kurt doesn’t really have a chance to appreciate whether or not Puck is a good kisser, because he just _knows_ this is going to end in tragedy. The rest of the football team is probably waiting out in the hall to rough him up and carry him off to the dumpster. But Puck keeps doing that thing with his _hips_ , and Kurt can’t _think_. 

From the hallway Kurt hears footsteps approaching—Rachel’s dreadful k-mart brand penny loafers . He gropes behind himself and gets a hand around the door knob and twists, and they go tumbling out in a tangle of limbs. Puck’s elbow lands in Kurt’s gut, taking what little breath he had left away. At least Kurt’s managed to get his mouth back to himself. 

Rachel’s standing above them with a startled and unimpressed expression on her face. “Seriously,” she says, “It isn’t the 1990s, meterosexuality is more than a trend, Puck, it’s a social movement. Embrace it. And Kurt, I’m disappointed in you.” 

Kurt shoves Puck off him and gets to his feet as gracefully as he can. He straightens his jacket and brushes at the dust clinging to his clothing. He gives Rachel the iciest look he can manage given that his heart’s still racing and his mouth his tingling. 

“Your left side is bigger than the right,” he tells her, and takes advantage of Rachel’s distraction as she fumbles for her compact to disappear through the band room, leaving Puck to his fate. 

*

Puck’s been watching Kurt all day, skulking around the hallways and lurking outside of classrooms, and there’s nothing remotely friendly about the look on his face. It’s a bit alarming, to say the least. 

Kurt doesn’t know what Puck’s problem is. After all, his eyebrows seem to have somehow escaped Rachel’s evil, tweezer-y clutches, so it can’t be that, and Kurt hasn’t told anyone, not even Mercedes, about what happened in the cupboard. He’d rather forget it. No matter what his subconscious gets up to while he’s sleeping. 

Maybe in his sick and twisted mind, Puck convinced himself that Kurt was the one to blame for that kiss, and is now out to prove his heterosexuality through violence and brute strength. Nothing gay about that. 

Whatever’s behind Puck’s intense staring, it’s the reason Kurt’s eating his lunch in the little-used bathroom down by the Chemistry lab. No one ever comes here, especially during lunch, but he draws his feet up just in case, and chews his sandwich quietly. 

The outer door swings open and Kurt swallows quickly and holds his breath. He’s locked the door on his stall, but someone wiggles it from the outside and it pops open, just like that, emitting one Noah Puckerman. Kurt clutches his sandwich like a lifeline. 

“So,” Puck says, “we’ve got to quit running into each other like this.” 

Kurt licks his lips without really meaning to, and his heart starts pounding when Puck follows the movement with his eyes. “You broke into my stall.” He thinks it might be possible to drop to the floor and roll under the division into the next stall. But there’s not way he’s subjecting his brand new Burberry sweater vest to that filth. 

Puck shrugs. “Same difference.” 

“It really isn’t,” Kurt insists. He stands up, because he’s not going to take this sitting down. “You had to open the lock from the outside. It took _effort_.” 

Puck steps closer, right up in Kurt’s personal space until their chests are brushing and says, “Maybe I think you’re worth the effort.” 

Kurt huffs a flustered sigh and stares at a point on the wall over Puck’s shoulder. “Look, we’ve only got five minutes left of lunch, so if you could just get this over with…” 

“I could be down with a quickie,” Puck says with a cheeky grin. 

“I might have guessed you wouldn’t have any stamina,” Kurt says bitingly. If he’s going to get his ass kicked, he’s going to at least deserve it. 

But the blow never comes—at least, not the one Kurt expects. Instead, Puck sweeps in quick enough to make Kurt flinch, and bites down hard on Kurt’s bottom lips. Kurt waits, perfectly still, watching Puck watch him. Puck takes his chin in hand and rubs his thumb where he’s just bitten. “Your fucking mouth,” Puck mutters, and kisses him. 

The last kiss wasn’t much more than a press of lips to lips, and it hadn’t really lasted long enough for Kurt to appreciate it in the face of his paralysing terror. But this…this. Puck slicks his tongue past Kurt’s lips…It’s messy and wet, and Kurt doesn’t have a whole lot of a basis for comparison (Brittany), but it’s freaking awesome. 

Kurt’s mouth moves all on its own, shaping kisses back, and he can feel Puck’s smile in response. He doesn’t taste anything like dip, or hamburgers, or anyone’s armpits. There’s no real way to describe Puck’s flavour but it makes Kurt think of grass and musk and autumn. It’s so much better than root beer. 

Puck’s hands grab onto Kurt’s hips and slide up to frame his waist. Even with two layers between their skin, Kurt can feel the heat of his touch. One kiss melts into another, and Puck slides a leg between Kurt’s. His knee presses up, rubbing against Kurt’s slowly growing erection. Kurt can’t help himself, even though he knows it’s a dreadful idea, he rubs back. 

“Oh _god_ ,” Kurt breathes into Puck’s mouth. Puck sucks hard at his lips and lets out a rumbling noise like agreement. 

Kurt has no idea what he’s doing, but he throws himself into the kiss, and before he knows it, the bell is ringing. He jerks away from Puck like he’s been stung. Puck’s mouth is shiny and swollen and Kurt can’t quite believe that it’s from kissing _him_. 

“I’ve got English,” Kurt says faintly, and Puck doesn’t try to stop him when he pushes past him and out of the stall. 

“It’s okay,” Puck calls after him. He sounds smug and lazy. “I like hard to get. It’s like foreplay.” 

*

Kurt’s been avoiding Puck, he’ll readily admit. The whole situation is far too confusing for him to really wrap his mind around; he’s not sure it’s a game anymore, or if it ever was at all. He doesn’t know how to deal with that. 

Cheerleading practice lets out a couple hours after all the other clubs have gone home; Sue will accept nothing less than perfection. Thankfully the locker room is deserted. Kurt would never shower at school, no matter the circumstances, but he likes to change and freshen up. 

He sheds the cheerleading vest and is about to lift his turtleneck over his head when a locker door clangs shut behind him. Kurt whirls around to see Puck standing at the end of the row, an easy grin on his face. 

“What are you even doing here?” Kurt asks. Puck is always in such a hurry to leave after football and glee club practice, like he would rather be anywhere else. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Puck says. He strolls towards Kurt with a predatory gleam in his eyes. 

Kurt backs away, only to end up against the lockers. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time than screw with me?” 

Puck’s hands come to rest on the lockers on either side of Kurt’s head, pinning him in place. “We might be having a better time if we could get to the screwing,” he says. 

“This really isn’t funny anymore,” Kurt murmurs. His hand is touching Puck’s shoulder—how did that happen? 

“Not laughing,” Puck says, and closes that last distance between them. His mouth nudges gently at Kurt’s. Kurt parts his lips automatically; he’s been thinking about their last kiss sort of obsessively, wondered if maybe he built it up in memories, but no. No, this is just as good as he remembered. 

“No Rachel, no school bell,” Puck whispers into the kiss. “No more interruptions.” 

Kurt’s stomach flutters in anticipation of just what Puck might mean. He tries to keep up with Puck’s kisses, but it’s too overwhelming. It’s easier to let Puck have his way. Puck gets his knees between Kurt’s and Kurt opens his legs obligingly. He thanks god that cheerleading practice has increased his flexibility when Puck gets an arm under his knee and hikes his leg up high. 

The angle is just right and lifts Kurt high enough that he can feel Puck’s erection pressed right up against his own. Puck’s hips grind up in a tight circle that leaves Kurt making high, desperate noises he can’t quite contain. Puck urges Kurt’s other leg around his waist and Kurt clings tight, hands curled in the fabric cover Puck’s shoulders, heel dug into the small of Puck’s back. 

Puck tears his mouth away from Kurt’s and ducks his head to suck bruises into the skin of Kurt’s throat. Kurt’s head falls with a thump against the lockers, panting. He doesn’t have a lot of leverage, but it’s enough to buck his hips up to meet the slow, rolling thrusts Puck keeps making. 

It’s embarrassing how close to coming Kurt is already. This is not how Kurt imagined his first time, rutting up against the lockers with _Puckerman_. But if he’s going to be honest, maybe wanting roses and satin sheets was a bit unrealistic. Besides, there’s something really hot about this, hearing the little groans Puck makes against his skin, and Kurt’s neck is apparently a lot more sensitive than he would have ever thought. 

“Puck,” Kurt moans, and feels himself blush bright red at the wrecked sound of his own voice. Puck lifts his head, eyes sparkling, lips quirked in a sly smirk. Kurt lets out another moan and tugs Puck into another kiss, bites, and licks into his mouth. 

Puck’s hand squeezes Kurt’s thigh and slips up to cup his ass. The move makes Kurt’s hips jump and Puck’s other hand works between them. His heel rubs against Kurt’s dick, his thumb tracing the head. Kurt cries out and shakes apart, just like that. 

“That’s seriously hot,” Puck breathes and works his hips harder. The sensation is almost too much for Kurt, so soon after coming, but he can’t tell Puck to stop. He bites down hard on Puck’s bottom lip and tugs, and Puck’s hips stutter as he groans through his own orgasm. 

Kurt’s leg is cramping, and when Puck lowers him back down to the ground, Kurt stumbles a little. Puck catches him with an arm around his waist and leers at him. “Did I make your knees all weak?” 

Kurt makes a face. He’d push Puck away, but he’s not sure he can support his own weight. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “Anyone can get off rubbing against anyone else like that.” Kurt absolutely _will not_ blush. Though, from the smug look on Puck’s face, he gets the impression that his cheeks aren’t listening. 

“Oh?” Puck says, arching a brow. “I think that’s a challenge, Hummel.”


End file.
